


Idyll

by noctaval



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Crueltide, Gen, Ravnica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctaval/pseuds/noctaval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashiok enjoys a new plane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idyll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aedh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aedh/gifts).



The nightmares of the Rakdos-guilded were a disappointment.  
  
Those of their neighbors — quite exquisite, Ashiok mused.  
  
Taking a moment to savor the taste, Ashiok paused, face tilted toward the bright Ravnican sky. The sun beat down hammer-strong, striking bright sparks from the fountains and canals that lined the gleaming marble thoroughfare. Drifting spray brought a pleasant chill to the too-hot day, glittering like the wares of the street peddlers along the avenue, where colorful tents trimmed in ribbons sheltered trays of baubles positioned to catch the morning light. Ashiok drifted with the swell of the crowd, gazing at each stall and ignoring the ripples of shocked whispers that followed behind.  
  
A jewelry-seller drew Ashiok in, and his widened eyes at this new patron prompted a small smile in response. Ashiok examined the pieces strewn across the low table, turning over a well-wrought brass ring and holding it to the light for inspection.  
  
The jewelry-seller began to sweat, the scent of his fear pouring out from under the awning and into the street. It was a richer perfume than the rose-scented fountains; a pity most were blind to it, Ashiok thought, favoring the man with another smile. The jeweler's eyes traced the light as the ring twisted around long black claws, then were lost again in the swirling void of Ashiok's face.  
  
"Fine work," Ashiok assured him. "I'll take it." With that, a spiral of the dark mist that surrounded Ashiok's form coiled and compressed around each clawed finger, materializing into a perfect copy of the seller's ring. Carefully replacing the actual item to its velvet bed on the seller's table, Ashiok bowed and turned away, leaving the jeweler's confused sputtering behind. It really was exquisitely made - simple yet elegant, the work of a true artisan, and Ashiok resolved to leave the man with a elegantly crafted nightmare in repayment. A vibrant fearscape, drawn from the deep well of crafter's own dreams. Something about hands.

 

* * *

 

Ashiok worked while walking, breathing in the shifting web of the city's dreams, the fears and desires of a city of thousands. Strands twisted in misty fingers, Ashiok struggled to tame a particularly unruly fragment, strolling down a narrow, shaded street hemmed in by towering walls. Thus preoccupied and distracted, Ashiok nearly missed the line of Azorius arrestors as they peeled out from the cool blue shadows and fanned out across the alleyway.

Ashiok paused, regarding the interruption with a thin frown.

The two parties regarded one another without speaking. Wind fluttered in the awnings high above. Ashiok waited.  
  
There were five of them; heavily armored and garbed in blue and white, images of their imposing figures featured heavily in the local dreamscape. The foremost arrestor did look formidable, and perhaps her grizzled lieutenant was suitably fearsome, but the rest were green and flinching below their brash facades. Nervous eyes and twitching fingers gave them away as they shot darting glances at Ashiok's hands, horns, and face.

A brisk wind from above forced its way through the alley, ruffling the hems of the arrestors' robes and stirring  the clinging mist rising from Ashiok's brow. Ashiok frowned, holding a thread of  dreamstuff in place as it tried to slink back to its place of origin.  
  
Finally one of the arrestors cleared her throat.  
  
"Non-citizen, you are in violation," the arrestor asserted, fixing Ashiok with a firm stare.  
  
"You arrived in this district without checking in at Gate 46 in the Department of Travel and Immigrations, and therefore have no identity documents on file. Additionally, there have been...reports," she hesitated, "of unlawful and unguilded spellcasting of a disruptive nature. We have tracked these violations to your location on several occasaions, and have been issued a writ of arrest. You will desist these illegal enchantments and come along peacefully."  
  
Ashiok sighed, a breath of smoke over black lips, and gave the arrestor full attention for the first time. The dream-weave slipped away, leaving echoes of itself: a brief sensation of adrenaline sliding over skin, play of black shadows slipping over the walls and gone. The Azorius detachment tensed, sensing it, but the vanished spell was no more material than a wisp of memory upon waking. They would find nothing there.  
  
A fight would be so tedious; Ashiok preferred to continue working and walking, enjoying the sights of this new plane and its scents, a rich tapestry of fears. And the fear of the Azorius was beautiful, inspiring; they did not want to fight, either.  
  
"I beg your forgiveness," Ashiok replied, and gave the surprised arrestor — a Captain, by her garb — a graceful bow. "I was unaware."  
  
The captain frowned severely. "Ignorance of the law is no excuse," she chided, glancing side to side at her nervous subordinates. Ashiok bowed again, hands pressed together, and the veteran lieutenant gave his captain a small nod. "We are, however, prepared to accept your identification documents from your home district on a provisional basis, provided," the captain raised her chin,"that you proceed immediately to the nearest Gate for processing."  
  
One of the younger soldiers let out a smothered squawk — apparently the offer was outside of protocol. Ashiok, of course, had no such documents, but gave a polite nod and a smile that caused the young soldier to gulp. It was a simple matter then to manifest the stamped parchments in a robed pocket, and Ashiok presented them without comment.  
  
The captain inclined her head, but her young subordinate, no doubt frozen in terror, did not move to take them. Snorting, the leader stepped forward and calmly retrieved the documents from Ashiok's claws. Regarding Ashiok with curiosity, but without fear, she skimmed the parchments without truly looking away. Then she nodded and stepped back.  
  
"Thank you for your co-operation. Please be advised that if you are not checked in by sundown, you will be placed under arrest. You will still be required to appear on the unlawful spellcasting charge — the travel registry will be able to direct you. However, if you do not re-offend, I see no reason why you should come to our attention again."  
  
Ashiok merely nodded in response to the long-winded explanation and bowed again. The Azorius narrowed her eyes, but with a brief hand signal gathered her troops and took her leave. One of the youngsters was muttering to himself; the captain cuffed him on the ear before dragging him away. The last Ashiok saw of them was their long shadows disappearing around the corner.

 

* * *

 

Justice was a cruel mistress, Kiyan decided: unforgiving, merciless, and _cold_. Very cold. And _wet_. The neophyte Azorius lifted his boot tentatively, but it only made more icy, muddy sludge run in, and he grimaced. He had supposed a sewer might be warm with gas and rot, but the catacombs and sluiceways controlled by the Dimir were cold as the grave. The damp chill sank into his bones and made his fingers ache, but he tried not to move overmuch; the smallest noise echoed for miles down here. He crept along quietly, a dim spell-light illuminating a small circle in front of him. He extinguished it as he approached his destination: a broad archway spilling pallid light into the sluiceway.

Poking around the corner carefully, he looked out into the huge open cavern beyond. Soaring towers with decaying buttresses reached for some distant light; water of uncertain depth spread out in an open plain, interrupted by piles of stone blocks and crumbling buildings, some little more than doors on lonely frames. An unhealthful mist lay over it all, and the guttering lanterns half-hidden in their alcoves glowed greenish in the fog. Will-o-wisps and beady eyes flashed in the darkness of unlit doorways and sewer grates. Skittering noises echoed down the sluiceway. A dark figure stood silhouetted against the light.  
  
Sucking in a breath Kiyan flattened himself back against the wall, heart pounding. The mage was there.  
  
Kiyan had been infuriated by their earlier encounter with the mysterious being. His Captain, normally the most brilliant pillar of Law he'd ever encountered, had...well...had _bent_ the law to allow a dangerous spellcaster to go free. He couldn't understand it — it was an injustice that fairly cried out to be rectified. And if he were honest with himself, he needed to restore his own honor as well. If I am to be a protector of the people, Kiyan had resolved, I can't allow my own fear to get in the way of doing my job.  
  
And that had led him here, to the cold and admittedly frightening Dimir territory to whence he'd tracked his quarry. He hadn't quite decided if he would arrest the mage or simply report his observations; he wasn't so foolhardy as to throw himself into a fight unthinking. But... he knew this was something he had to do, else he be condemned as a coward forever, and unworthy of his post.  
  
Steeling his resolve, he looked out once more.  
  
A clawed hand settled on his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Ashiok looked out over the Selesnya gardens, marveling at the graceful sway of trees and living arches bright with colorful flowers. From the high vantage of the balcony overlook, Ashiok could see just how far the green swath stretched, lapping up against the sides of ivory skytowers like waves. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, and the market traffic had begun to slow. Ashiok had acquired a spidersilk scarf and a book of local mythology, thumbing through the latter as patrons and sellers finished up their business.  
  
"Rakdos revelers in this part of town - I can't believe it," a passing merchant muttered, tossing his head so his earrings jingled pleasingly.  
  
"Believe it," his companion assured him confidently. "My Azorius contact is never wrong. And take your leopard with you to market tomorrow — they found some poor bastard in the catacombs below here, screaming his fool head off and missing half his limbs. My friend didn't know more than that, but I tell you, I wouldn't put it past those Rakdos crazies. Bit of fun for them, really."  
  
"Well, but the catacombs, really! I'll be fine, as if _I'd_ have any dealings with the _— you_ know," the merchant retorted, and the argument continued as the pair walked away.  
  
Ashiok smiled and closed the book, looking past the gardens to the distant towers of the Izzet, aglow with mana and lightning even at this early hour.  One of this plane's great thinkers was in residence in that tower: indeed, the leader of his own Guild. Armed with insider information gleaned from the spymasters, Ashiok's missive had been well received, and tomorrow they would meet for tea and a game. Ashiok anticipated a challenging opponent and intelligent conversation; in all the multiverse both were in dismally short supply, and Ashiok looked forward to the meeting.  
  
Today had been fruitful: an enjoyable walk, time taken for art, and intriguing plans for the morrow. Ashiok smiled and let the wind rush by, watching the fading light gild the garden until the sun went down.


End file.
